Girlfriend in a Coma
by MsSchneeheide
Summary: She would hate anything to happen to her. Inspired by the Smiths' song and sequel to "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out."


_**Author's note:**_

**Second part of what's going to be the P*ssy Music series with sometimes related, sometimes unrelated stories connected to music.**

**Now, or after reading, GO and LISTEN to that song!**

**.**

* * *

It was serious.

She came to gradually.

First it was her hearing. A faint _beep_, _beep_, fairly regular, started being recorded in her mind; then a shuffling of papers, a voice or two, but the words were impossible to make out. It all seemed so distant, as if coming through a mist that muffled every sound.

Trying to understand was so tiring.

She drifted off...

Later, noises resurfaced to her consciousness again.

"Darn," someone said. Someone familiar.

She also became aware of her own chest moving up and down: she was breathing.

There wasn't much to notice about temperature, or other tactile sensations: it was warm; she wanted to move, get a feel of where she was lying – but god, why was it so hard to muster up the energy? Finally her index twitched a bit; she focused all her attention on it, on keeping it in motion. It was cotton, or something: she must be lying on a bed, duh.

"...Mari?" the voice again. Who was it... "Maritza?" oh right, her sister.

She tried to concentrate on another action now, and finally, finally could do it: her heavy eyelids lifted, and she could see.

Isabela was staring with wide eyes, she was near, and she clutched her hand.

There was really a whole lot of light.

"Thank god," her sister smiled.

Maritza tried smiling too, though she didn't get why. It was all so jumbled up.

She closed her eyes, going back to sleep.

XXX

They explained she had been out for a few hours.

They being the doctor and her sister, and then Blanca and Diablo had appeared too, and Aleida. Gloria and Daya were not far either, Blanca said. Maria had to go pick up Pepa 'cause Yadriel was working, and Zirconia had to man the cafeteria.

So many names, so many people... it was confusing... what were they all doing there?

What was _she_ doing there?

She looked down at the cast on her left arm.

"Where's Juliana?" she hazily asked her sister.

"She's still with Elena, y'remember she had a sleepover right?" she tried.

Oh, right, the sleepover; she remembered now. She remembered, looking out of the window; she had dropped her off and then... then-

Suddenly more awake, she jerked back. "Where's Flaca?"

Isabela inhaled, looking at her guiltily.

Her eyes flashed to her friends. Why did they have those stupid expressions on their faces?

"What's up?" she urged. "Hey!"

Aleida huffed and put her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.

"Listen, she still sleeping OK."

Maritza frowned. "What d'you mean sleeping? Where is she?"

Isabela squeezed her shoulder lightly in reassurance. "She's here in another room, they're looking after her and-"

"So she's OK?" she still didn't like their faces.

They looked at each other surreptitiously.

"Well, I mean..."

"They are doing their best," Blanca said.

"We just gotta wait," concluded Aleida.

Maritza didn't understand.

It took them some time to get her to calm down enough so they managed to reconstruct what had happened, since thoughts and memories of the past evening and night were all a mess in her mind.

She had picked up Flaca, that she knew, then they'd gone to Bad Karma, the bar where Blanca worked. Some of their friends were there as usual, they'd danced, drunk some… but she distinctly recalled not having more than two tequilas, and that had been early on in the evening.

Flaca on the other hand had had quite a bit; she had been upset at first, but then the alcohol and the company had cheered her up. She remembered their ridiculous dancing, using her tall bestie as a pole, laughing, having fun... then they'd left, quite late, Blanca said.

Where were they headed? Did they want to go home, or stay out some more, or just drive around...? It was impossible to say.

They had collided with a truck, apparently it was the other vehicle's fault: witnesses had seen it before it got into the underpass, too fast, overtaking multiple cars in one go, and generally running dangerously close to the left side of the road.

"The motherfucker was drunk," Aleida snorted. "He got lucky too, just 'minor injuries', coño."

"That pendejo," Blanca grumbled.

The other driver came out injured, but indeed not seriously– a head bump, bruises here and there...

Maritza had a broken arm, a bandage on her head, a neck brace; she felt her chest and knees burning. Her legs had hit the panel under the steering wheel; and the safety belt had done its job well, leaving as proof a diagonal bruise on her skin where it had pulled her back to the seat.

"Yeah, it's a miracle no other cars were involved," Diablo added, rubbing his fiancée's back.

A miracle; yeah.

At least it wasn't her fault, it seemed; she was careful to drive within the limits now, didn't wanna risk getting back to prison for no stupid reason thanks. But it didn't make her feel much better.

They wouldn't let her stand for now.

Gloria had come after a while, and she had done her best to reassure her. But she was too hyped up, and not being able to go and see with her own eyes how Flaca was made her extra nervous.

Still, after seeing all her people and doing some physical assessment and more weird tests to check her head was fine, she was also exhausted and struggling to stay awake.

"You gotta let me go, tell the doc I'm fine please," she drowsily begged Gloria, who was exchanging glances with her sister. Her mouth felt strange, her tongue, what was in that last injection?

"Sure nena, yes," she heard the voice getting farther and farther away, as her eyes closed against her will.

* * *

It was now two in the afternoon, Saturday.

"I'm sorry for my mom," Marco said to Gloria.

She looked up from her seat a little more to the left, in the corridor of the intensive care unit.

The boy held the coke in his hand, and was playing with the tab.

"And thanks again for all this."

She had brought them something from the bar on the ground floor of the hospital: Theresa hadn't touched the food nor had she taken a sip or said a word, but now that she had gone into the room he had quickly eaten his sandwich.

The two women didn't know each other well, she had only been at the café a couple of times looking very guarded.

Gloria could understand it. She was a mother too, and had no idea how she'd react if one of her kids had landed themselves behind bars and, once out, held on tight to their prison family. Plus Flaca had not even been a real crimer, she was in for a bullshit reason. But it's not as if she or some of the others were hardened criminals either, yeah, they'd made some mistakes, but they'd paid for them; besides, who didn't? Theresa must have made some mistakes of her own too, surely.

"It's okay, she's got other things on her mind now." Who cared if she hadn't said thank you, she must be using all her strength to keep herself together.

Maritza was doing alright physically, more or less, though she was half black and blue and agitated.

But Flaca…

Isabela had got a call from the hospital in the middle of the night, and at the crack of dawn had ringed Elena to ask them to please keep Juliana there for the day, and told them about the accident.

Then Gloria had taken care of things and rushed there too. Those two, together with Daya, had been like her prison daughters, and Flaca especially… she had known her for years, they had had their ups and downs but in the end that silly girl had grown so much.

Up to a few minutes ago no one could even see her. Then they'd let Theresa go in, just briefly and she'd have to wear scrubs, kinda, and gloves and whatnot on her hair they said, but she had jumped up and followed the nurse in an instant.

She sighed, stilling her wringing hands.

XXX

_My fault. It's all my fault._

The thought wouldn't stop echoing in her mind.

She watched her daughter breathing through a tube, attached to several machines whose purpose they had tried to explain to her, and just couldn't quit the voice in her head.

_She_ had done this.

_If only I had tried to listen, to talk and listen, hadn't closed up like a clam - Marisol might have stayed home and none of this would have happened._

Instead… she went out, Marco told her after her clienta left, and didn't say where. Theresa didn't call, just went to bed, but sleep wasn't coming easily with all the things in her mind.

Then in the middle of the night her phone had rung, and she received one of the worst news a parent could get. It was all a blur from there.

* * *

_Sunday_

It was another sunny day outside. What use was it for them, for _her _though, really.

Theresa had barely moved.

She had talked to Gloria, in the end; it had helped a bit.

At some point she had eaten her sandwich, drunk a soda.

"Sí, come later Marco. Está bien," she told her son on the phone.

The doctors had said they would take Marisol to a normal room today, if the night went well, since it would just be a matter of time and waiting at that point. And praying, a sneaky voice in her head hissed. So the previous evening that big man, Diablo, had brought her home; she had freshened up and put together a bag of clothes and toiletries, to be prepared.

She was waiting for the move now. Her sister Mariana was there too, gone to the bar to pick up something for breakfast.

During the night Theresa had passed by the other girl's room. Maritza was asleep, looking even smaller than she was, in the hospital bed. They had met a few times, Marisol had told her a bit about her life – they were very good friends; now she couldn't help but wonder... she shook her head. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was that her daughter woke up soon.

* * *

_"I like pizza. _Everyone_ likes pizza. What? It's American and shit." - "It's Italian, you fucking idiot."_

_..._

_"This is so sad." - "I know." - "__It's like when Van Gogh cut __off __his ear." - "How is it _anything _like that?" - "__I don't know. It's the only sad artist story I know!"_

_..._

_"What senator?" - "Bitch, like you know about senators!"_

_._

Yes. They did their fair share of bickering and there were times when she had hated how that condescending attitude made her feel, or how Flaca could spot her bullshit. But still, she couldn't bear anything to happen to her.

She was her... like another part of herself, separated but inextricably connected.

That afternoon, finally, they had allowed a quick visit.

She had to beg like crazy, but her tests were all OK so far, and Flaca was in a semi-normal room now, so they had to let her.

Isa walked her there on a wheelchair, as standing up still made her a bit dizzy.

"Buenas tardes señora Gonzales," she murmured.

The older woman, who was leaning against the door and looking in, turned; her eyes widened at seeing the girl.

"Maritza."

"This is my sister, Isabela;" the two nodded at each other in greeting.

Maritza was cautious, 'cause Flaca had been upset for something related to her; plus, she might be angry: after all _she_ had been the one driving. But from her face she looked tired to the bone, and was probably feeling guilty for whatever it was too.

"Are you OK?" Theresa asked, unexpectedly. She was observing the cast, bandages, and neck brace and the bruises that showed on parts of the skin uncovered by the loose-fitting tracksuit the girl was wearing.

"Yes, it's alright, thanks." She hesitated.

Theresa peered inside the room, then back at her; she seemed to come to a decision.

"Did you want to go in?"

"Can I?" Maritza's eyes lit up a bit. "I mean if it's okay with you."

She nodded with a small smile. "You can talk to her if you want. We don't know if she's listening, but it can't do bad."

"Sí."

They rolled her in and left her alone.

XXX

Seeing Flaca was a relief and a shock at the same time.

Her face was nastily bruised, head bandaged; she was breathing through an oxygen mask, an IV came out of her left arm, and she had a cast on her leg.

"Flac."

She took her right hand, lightly caressed the fingers.

"I'm so sorry."

Could she hear her?, she wondered. Was it like it had been for her, in those moments, or minutes, or had it been more? when she had started being conscious again, her mind was there, like in a cotton cloud, but she couldn't move an inch or even just open her eyes.

"You know we got matching neck braces? But you'd hate the hospital gown," she chuckled, with tears in her eyes. "Duh, it's flowers!" She suffocated a sob.

"Everyone was here for you. I'm gonna come every time they let me. You know Juli wants to come too?" her voice choked. "Listen, you gotta rest and focus on healing OK?"

Maritza was looking at her hard, searching for something, anything; but Flaca's face was immobile. She tried not to fall apart as she heard Isa and Mrs Gonzales come in.

* * *

Days passed. One, two.

She was getting better, could walk on her own now, and the initial dizziness had passed.

Some of their friends and family were always at the hospital: Aleida and Daya, Maria, Zirconia, Blanca and Diablo; she had gotten to know Cat better, and spoken with Cindy. Isa was taking good care of Juliana, and even her mother had come from Miami.

Marco and tía Mariana supported Theresa to their best, and Gloria spent a lot of time there too, often with Mama Lourdes or her daughters.

She herself now spoke to Flaca's mom frequently, or they just stayed there together; they'd reached a sort of understanding. Maritza could be found in her friend's room at all hours, what else did she have to do anyways, she reasoned; she read her the latest fashion articles, recounted the nurses' gossip, did _Cosmo_'s stupid tests for both herself _and_ Flaca, commenting on the results.

"So you wouldn't like this. According to this _How Texan are you?_ thing, you're 77% aka pretty much Texan. Your beer is cold and music loud. Mh. Not really. You enjoy driving... fast on the open road and avoiding armadillos? You don't even drive! Anyway. You're not the type to deck out in full Texas attire, but might have belt buckles or a ten-gallon hat stored somewhere. Nope, sorry, this is a sham. Though you'd look good in them I bet.

Thank god I'm just 3% Texan. ...probably repulsed by country music and lots of pepper gravy... yep. I belong somewhere that I can avoid hitting armadillos – well, duh. I'd be much happier on one of the coasts surrounded by people that don't shout to get off of their properties. Well, obviously! OK, sorry for this Flac."

She rifled clumsily through another magazine, with her right hand and cast. "But this _Would you make good parents together?_ test says we'd work quite well. Mh. You're good with Juli and she loves you, that's for sure."  
Maritza paused and looked at her friend. Nothing.

"Flac..."

It was hard.

* * *

Three days.

It was like being in a limbo, time went on but life didn't - life was just this… existing, waiting, and hoping. And hopes getting crushed again and again.

"Nothing new today. But she breathes well now, esto es bueno," her mom was saying. She was out in the corridor, updating Gloria who'd just come from the cafeteria.

The oxygen mask was not necessary anymore.

"You're doing good, yo," Maritza whispered. She felt tired today.

She herself was alright, they were about to clear her up and she would probably leave in a couple of days or something since her mother could help her with everything. Sure home was better than a hospital, she supposed, Juli would be calmer, it'd be more comfortable… but she'd rather stay here, it was easier to see Flaca.

"Your face is almost OK, I mean there's some yellow and it's _not_ your color, but it's better." She fidgeted with her fingers. "You should see Daya's work on your leg really!"

Aleida had insisted on a leopard pattern, but she had firmly refused; or Flaca would kill them when she woke up. So it was black and white, with some cartoonish characters among shooting stars, as suggested by Cindy, and Maritza was still looking into Bauhaus lyrics to add some words (and finding something that was not depressing, or even just comprehensible, was hella hard). It felt a little teenage, but who cared.

Her own left arm was now covered with a colorful beach scene. It should cheer her up, but at the moment looking at it only made her sad.

"Flaca… I miss you."

XXX

"Hey nena."

She had been looking out of the window in her room, though it was dark and there was nothing to see. She turned; it was Gloria.

"Sup?"

She sat down next to her. "How are you?"

"Oh. Good, I'm good. Peachy. Out in two days, wow!"

Gloria frowned. "That's good."

She turned again. "Yeah."

The Puerto Rican woman studied her for a minute. "It's gonna be alright, you'll see."

She huffed. "Yeah, sure."

"Oye Ramos! Look at me."

Maritza started at the forceful tone; Gloria saw the hurt, the pain in her eyes. "Maritza," she got nearer to reach her.

"Mh..."

"It's OK," she rubbed her arm, and Maritza flinched; "it's slow but it's going better already and-"

"You don't know!" she cried, jerking away. "You can't say this, 'cause you don't know nothing. The _doctors_ don't know, _no one_ knows nothing!"

Gloria was stunned for a moment. Then Maritza started tearing up, she shook herself and hugged her. Maritza fought at first, but then hid in the embrace.

They stayed like that.

A couple of minutes passed. "Sorry," the younger woman murmured against her shoulder.

"Está bien, let it out." She imagined that in front of others, Flaca's mother and the rest, she had tried to put up a brave front.

"It's just…" she let out, "what if… Gloria, what if-" her voice broke.

She held on tighter. "We gotta be positive mh," she said. "For her, and her family, and all. For yourself and your baby too."

Maritza sniffled. "I'm scared," she confessed.

Aah. "I know."

"I can't… Gloria, Flaca is… I…"

"I know," she just said.

Outside the room, Maria Ramos squeezed Theresa Gonzales' arm. They had been standing there for quite a bit, catching most of the conversation. The two mothers had met and bonded over the last few days, facing these difficult circumstances.

Maritza pulled back slightly, and regarded her with teary, questioning eyes.

"Gloria… do you?" she whispered.

"I've known you for years now. At Litchfield, then in Max with Flaca and again at ICE… and then we all reunited." She looked at her hard, but warmly. "I'm not stupid. You two may be sometimes, but sorry mija, _I _am not." She gave a small smile.

Maritza diverted her gaze, embarrassed.

"She's hanging on in there. You hang on out here too mh? We're all here."

She bit her lip and nodded. "Thanks."

"Oh, c'mere," Gloria brought her back in a hug.

* * *

Tomorrow. _I'm leaving tomorrow._

Every waking moment she could was spent at her side, more than ever.

Her face had mostly healed now.

The cast sported a new writing, the dumbest thing she found, and Flaca would _hate_ it: _Well hello pretty lady / You're looking good / With your yellow type skirt_.

But she couldn't shake the words from that darn Smiths song from her thoughts.

_I can't whisper my last goodbyes, fuck 'em._

"Flaca, you're crazy slow. I'mma wait and come all the time till you get sick of my voice, but you try mh?" she squeezed her hand. Taking in the whole long form on the bed, Maritza breathed in deeply.

She fixed her hair, touched her jaw, cupped her cheek for a second or two.

Grasping her fingers again, she held them tight; bent a bit, and rested her chin on them. She left a kiss there, and lingered.

Her eyes had closed; she must have drifted off to sleep.

A breeze was bothering her lips, making them twitch, and nose, which curled in response. No, it wasn't a breeze, was it… ugh, was it a fly? Something was moving, feather-light but insistent.

With an effort, she opened a slit of an eye for a sec, then tried again, and once more with both eyes; and twice, three times, blinking fast, and wider and… she gasped and lifted her head.

It was fingers. Fingers had touched her face, fingers were moving.

Her heart was beating at full speed, she turned to look up-

Big chocolate eyes were open and looking at her, tired but sparkling; her lips were curved in a smile. Maritza felt her chest constrict and expand and something warm fill her insides to the brim, her stomach, between her ribs and in her heart and lungs, up to her throat.

Her mouth opened of its own volition to let some of that out.

It was- it had happened. She had pulled through.

Flaca… Flaca was back.


End file.
